In a country filled with tall, fair, fashion conscious
descendants of Vikings, where the men’s shoes make more sound than their female
counterparts, the bicycle is an extension to feet, beer is drunk more by girls
and every room has coat racks and heating, it is needless to say that I feel a
little out of place. Now, things like a bicycle are easy to adjust to, but
other than that, Danish culture is slightly out of reach…
The Danish are so very proud to call themselves Danish. They
even celebrate their birthdays by draping everything in their national flag! Their
pride also manifests itself in their stand for independence – an example of this would be the continued use of the Danish
Kroner even though they have been long-term members of the EU..
In my neighbourhood, Nørrebro,
you can’t walk more than a block without coming across a shawarma/kabab stand or
an Arab supermarket – try to imagine my excitement when I could by all the
Middle Eastern ingredients that have become so normal to find in Australia (and
so abnormal in the regular Danish supermarkets) and suddenly I had an ethnic
kitchen! I had no choice but to start recreating my mother’s amazing cooking,
or at least make my feeble attempts…
When I started shopping for a bicycle I was a little lost,
what did I know of a city bike? I had only ever owned a mountain bike and rode
around the quiet streets of my neighbourhood or on bike tracks. I was
accompanied by my favourite little German when we stepped into our first
bicycle shop, only to be greeted by the owner, “Irooni hastin?” (“are you
Iranian?”). Not only did we leave the shop with a great deal on a bicycle for
myself, one for my friend’s use free of charge for the rest of her visit, but I had found myself a
friend that I could swing by for chai whenever I felt like it...
The summer fought on with pleasant weather throughout
September but everyone I spoke to was certain to emphasise that, “we’ve been
lucky” and “it won’t last”. My denial of the graduation of the year, resulting
in colder weather, was as strong as ever, and my choice of clothes as a result
started getting more peculiar looks (I still don’t own a pair of winter boots)...
And now in November the layers are adding on, the gloves
have become a necessity rather than an accessory, particularly whilst cycling.
The days are growing so short to the point that if I sleep in I’m likely to miss
a majority of the daylight. I say daylight as opposed to sunlight given the
near-constant overcast sky. The rain/drizzle, although painstakingly annoying,
has become a daily expectation. And although my umbrella is always on hand,
riding a bicycle doesn’t allow the easy access to umbrella ‘protection’, not to
mention the safety risk of juggling an umbrella through (bicycle) traffic,
which in itself is hazardous...
It’s already December, I don’t know where time disappeared.
I have been in and out of Copenhagen so many times and now the friends I have
made here will soon start leaving to spend Christmas at their respective homes.
Many of them wont return in the new year. And so I must prepare to say
goodbyes. I haven’t had to deal with goodbyes in while. And these will be different
to the ‘see you later’s that occupied my departure from Australia in July.
These are more permanent, much longer, if not forever, goodbyes – the worst
kind...
I’m packing up my room, my cute little studio that has been
home these past months. The snow has kept up, blizzard-like conditions at
times. Copenhagen received more snow this winter than in the past ten. As my
room becomes more bare, reality is setting in. I’m heading back home after
nearly nine months of being in a state of travel-frenzy. I crave routine more
than anything. (I’m going to regret saying that)
